


The Lonely Hearts Club

by starseti



Category: Alternate Universe - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - The Breakfast Club, Canon-Typical Violence, Divorce, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revenge, Rivals, Surprise Father Reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-09-24 03:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20351401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseti/pseuds/starseti
Summary: Abby Price never thought that she would get detention. Surrounded by eight other teenage delinquents, Abby will find herself creating new friendships and unearthing old secrets in an 8-hour journey of self-discovery. What exactly is Cade Valley High (and Principal Chad Foreman-grill) hiding?





	1. 7:30 am - The Beginning

_August 24th, 2019. Cade Valley High. 7:30 am._

This was the cruelest month, Abby Price decided as her Dad pulled over into the driveway of the school’s entrance.

She hadn’t _meant_ to get into a fight, and she definitely hadn’t meant to get caught fighting, because physical altercations weren’t something that a good student like her was supposed to do. And now, because of her inability to control her temper when faced with annoying freshmen and bad opinions relating to the Beatles, she had upped her detention count to match her brother’s. That is, one time.

The ironic thing was that he’d also gotten into detention for fighting. Except Abby supposed that she was superior because at least she had won the fight and had made sure that those freshmen would never speak ill of the Beatles again.

“Well,” her Dad said disappointedly, looking at Abby like she was the family dog who had just chewed through his new leather shoes, “I’ll be here to pick you up in eight hours. I hope you take this time to think through everything you’ve done and really reflect, Abby. We’ll discuss your punishment at home later-”

Abby nodded morosely and left the car before he could finish his sentence.

There was a certain elegance to the school during the weekends, and a sense of elation that came with it. Maybe it was the lack of trash on the ground, or the absence of the screams of the weak as they were being shoved into the lockers. Or maybe it was the freedom knowing that she wouldn’t randomly bump into Mr. Kettle into the hallways.

On one of the walls was the artistic installment (or act of vandalism, depending on who you asked) that had been the buzz of the school for the whole week. The painting was a haphazard thing, done in a splash of bright black and blue, spanning from ceiling to floor and over three lockers and one of Mr. Waybis’ windows. Abby thought it was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever laid her eyes on: a realistic and delicate caricature of Principal Foreman-grill holding up two middle fingers.

In the painting, Principal Foreman-grill’s body was squashed and rotund, with his chin sticking out much more prominently than it did in real life. Regardless, it was clear who the painting depicted. Abby thought it was a shame that the artist didn’t leave a signature, because they could’ve been admitted into the MoMA. After all, they had taken that “piece of art” (or vandalism, depending on who you asked), _White on White_.

All in all, the painting brought Abby great joy.

That sense of elation quickly left her when she stepped into Room 319. There, in the detention room, _la chambre d’enfer_, sat her nemesis: Jericho Hu. Legs kicked up onto the table and iPhone X in hand, he looked up and grinned like they were friends. Abby glared back, because they hadn’t spoken for an entire week since Jericho insisted that Abby was being mean when he was the one pilfering her economics notes.

Abby had been so busy glaring at Jericho that she almost tripped over Shota, who was sleeping on the ground. Stepping over him, she quickly sat down next to her friend May. May was typing on a keyboard like she was finishing an essay that was already fifteen minutes late. She was probably working on her latest novel, a story about a girl and her horse.

“Why are you here?” Abby asked, eyeing the semi-questionable horse-patterned blouse that May was wearing.

“Oh, it’s a long story. Mostly because of Kettle.”

“Ah.”

Mr. Kettle was their history teacher. He had a tendency of oversharing to his students, and it made Abby wonder whether he was actually so lonely that he had no better company than a class of 17-year-olds.

May continued to hack at her laptop. “Why are you here?”

“Long story.” Abby didn’t want people knowing that she, Abby Price, the model student and National Honor Society member, had gotten into a fight with a bunch of pubescent boys. It would ruin her image, and May already thought that she was a secret Russian spy. If May knew that she could fight, it would only exacerbate May’s false assumptions.

Other students filed in in the next half an hour. First, Sarah Yan, the most popular girl in their year, a straight A student on every sport team and club imaginable. If you joined a club, she was their president, treasurer, and secretary at the same time. She was the student that your parents bragged about to other parents, even though she wasn't their child. Sarah was so sweet that you would have to go to the dentist to get cavities filled if you looked too long. Still, she gave May a dirty look, which was returned with gusto. Sarah then sniffed with disdain and sat down in the front row, Gucci belt glinting under the light as she moved.

Abby was pretty sure that the two had some dirty history, because the two were sickeningly nice to everyone else that they met. She also had to wonder how Sarah Yan of all people had gotten detention. But if Abby herself had gotten detention, she supposed that Sarah could too.

Next was Langham Beyersdorf. Everyone knew that he was a stoner, but Abby could never quite tell whether he was actually high. One time, she had wasted an entire free block trying to stop him from eating paper. Still, he was a nice person at heart, and had adopted Abby as one of his own, so Abby reluctantly accepted him as her third, green-and-purple haired parent. He plopped himself down three rows back and gave Abby two finger-guns.

After Langham walked in the boy that everyone knew only as “Lack Toes”. Lack Toes was on the shorter side, with a head of short, wiry hair. Lack Toes usually hung out with his nerd friends, being in both the robotics and drone clubs. Right behind him came Mickey Lo, in all of his 6’5” glory. He was always smiling uncomfortably, which made his baby face look all the more unsettling on his lanky, noodle-y body. Abby trusted him about as much as she trusted anyone else who made fun of her height, that is to say, not at all.

At exactly 7:58:42, Zacarias walked in. They quickly settled in one of the back rows of chairs and whipped out three sketchbooks, all of which looked equally worn. His clothing was plain but covered in dubious stains of color.

Finally, Principal Chad Foreman-grill strode into the room. Principal Foreman-grill was a stout, angry man. He always shouted at students whenever he was mad, which was always. His quivering thick eyebrows cut a perpetual frown into his probably permanently wrinkled face.

Principal Foreman-grill stopped in the front of the classroom, regarding the its occupants in the same way that one would regard some particularly unappetizing cheese.

“Well, well,” he said, “here we are.”

The principal’s eyes swept the room, stopping to glare at each and every one of the students. Abby felt an irrational sense of anger. Wasn’t it his fault that they were here anyways?

Principal Foreman-grill’s mouth stretched open over his teeth like a viscous piece of blue-tack. Abby realized that he was trying to smile.

“Congratulations for making it on time. I expected worse from you bunch.”

Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her seat and raised her hand. Abby felt herself getting poorer when she saw the Rolex watch on Sarah’s wrist.

“Yes?”

“Principal Foreman-grill, I don’t think I belong here. I know I got detention, but I really don’t think that I should be here. With these people.”

Principal Foreman-grill raised one of his caterpillar eyebrows. “It is now eight-o’clock am. You will all be here until four o’clock in the afternoon. That means no talking, no games, no gossiping. I want all of you, yes, _all_ of you-” he paused to point, “to think about what you’ve done wrong. I’m sacrificing my precious weekend to discipline you hooligans and you will use this time _to be disciplined_.”

He slammed his palm on the table in front of him, and Abby jumped in her seat.

“Mr. Hamada!” Principal Foreman-grill leant over Shota’s sleeping body. “You will not sleep while I am talking! In fact, you will not sleep at all!”

Shota snored in his sleep.

“I said, Mr. Hamada!” The principal stomped his foot on the ground next to Shota’s face. Still, the boy didn’t stir.

Langham’s hand shot up in the air. “Sir! It’s all Gucci. I can wake him up. One hundred percent guaranteed.”

Principal Foreman-grill eyed him suspiciously but let the green-purplette approach. Abby could feel Mickey leaning forward from behind her, trying to catch a glimpse of the action.

Langham slunk next to Shota, patchy converse shoes squeaking as he went. He leaned down, and in a horrible cowboy accent, whispered, “Shota! Blue is the best flavor of chalk!”

Shota shot up, head-butting Langham in the leg. “No! Blue chalk is so bad!”

“Mr. Hamada!”

“Oh, hi.”

“No sleeping in detention! Get in your seat!”

Shota climbed into his seat blearily, while Langham bowed and dabbed his way back to his own spot.

Principal Foreman-grill cleared his throat. Abby thought that his eyebrow seemed to be twitching much more than usual, almost as many times as there were Old Town Road remixes.

“Now that everyone is listening. I want you all to think about what you did wrong. I want you to ponder the error of your ways. I want you all to understand that your actions have consequences!”

His voice grew so loud that it even drowned out the clacks of May’s keyboard.

“First, put all of your electronics in this basket. No phones, no air pods, no computers. No nothing.”

Jericho raised his hand. “Sir, that’s bullshit! You can’t just take our fucking things! There's a word for that and it's called theft!”

“Watch your language!” Abby hissed like Captain America in Avengers: Age of Ultron.

“Oh, sorry. You can’t just purloin my fucking possessions, sir, because that’s called fucking stealing and that’s fucking bullshit. You can take Abby’s though.”

Mickey gasped dramatically, and May had to hold Abby back from standing up and socking Jericho in the face.

“NO TALKING!” Principal Foreman-grill boomed. “Mr. Hu, another three Saturdays of detention for foul language! And Ms. Price, another Saturday for speaking while I’m speaking!”

Abby felt the anger grow inside. Her head was a teapot, shaking with pressure, about three seconds away from spewing boiling water all over the principal and Jericho. How could she be punished for _correcting_ that arrogant, rude, annoying Jericho? If she had it her way, she would be rewarded for helping the principal shut up that barbarian of a teenager. Still though, she couldn’t risk any more Saturdays in detention at school. She had better things to do, like watch Queen's Live Aid performance. Also, her thirteen-year-old brother was the troublemaker of the family, not her.

Instead, Abby watched as the other students deposited their electronics into the basket. May looked extremely dejected to part with her laptop, which was covered with horse stickers. Most others just dropped their phones. But Lack Toes pulled device after device out of his pockets: a phone, a digital watch, a smart watch, a Gameboy, a T1-84, a pacemaker, and almost 20 sets of earphones.

Principal Foreman-grill returned to the front of the room a couple thousand dollars richer in electronics.

“Once again, let me reiterate. You may not talk. You may not move, from your seats. You may not sleep.”

Shota, who had been drifting off, shot upward, flailed, and sat up straight.

“Today,” Principal Foreman-grill picked up a stack of papers and pencils. “We will be writing essays. You will be describing to me who you think you are, and what you did wrong, and how you will correct it.”

Sarah breathed an excited sigh, as if she wanted to write an essay about who she was and what she did wrong and how she would correct it.

“No less than 1500 words. I will be collecting these at the end of the day,” Principal Foreman-grill waded through the tables, passing out sheets of papers. “And by 1500 words, I do not mean one word repeated 1500 times. Nor do I mean an essay that you took out of a book or one that you asked Sarah to write. I mean one essay that you wrote, about yourself, and who you are.”

Abby thought she heard Langham sob behind her.

“Sir,” Zacarias raised their hand, “are you gatekeeping our essays?”

Principal Foreman-grill’s forehead vein pulsed like a timpani drum in Ravel’s _Boléro_. “No.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

The principal marched around at the front of the room. “My office is right across the hall. That means no monkey business. No messing around. Understand?”

No one replied.

“I said, _do you understand_?”

“But sir, you said not to talk,” Sarah noted.

“Yes, very good Ms. Yan. I will be back to check on you all very soon.”

And with that, the principal stepped out of the room.

A sober mood quickly settled in the air, the way that air pollution did, which would always make Abby’s asthma act up. Her chest felt heavy. She knew that what she did was wrong, but upon picking up the pencil, she felt her heart drop. Who exactly was she? What _would_ she do to improve herself? Never correct anyone for hating on the Beatles again?

No. Abby put down the pencil. She hadn’t done anything wrong this time. Those freshmen had deserved it for making fun of the best band of all time (no exceptions).

Around the room, the other students seemed equally melancholic, choked by the silence and the sound of Sarah and May’s pencils scratching on paper, with the exception of one.

Mickey, who continued smiling, unaffected by the lead blanket that had covered the other occupants of Room 319. He met Abby’s eyes, and she felt like the only thing protecting her soul from those prying eyes were the two sets of glasses in between them.


	2. I'm So Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby and co. struggle through the first hour of detention. A fight breaks out. Abby has an identity crisis. What will happen? Read to find out.

_August 24th, 2019. Cade Valley High, Room 319. 8:30 am_.

Abby could feel her life force draining away as the clock continued to tick. No matter what she did, she just couldn’t bring herself to write the essay. She glanced around the room for the umpteenth time, only to realize that everyone was still doing the same things as they were when she last glanced around the room, just about three minutes ago.

In his seat, Shota had slumped over in slumber, pencil grasped loosely in his hand. Near him, Langham was doodling on his paper, occasionally passing it to Zacarias, who would make an addition to the doodle, after which both would promptly burst into badly disguised snickers. Every time they did that, Shota would blink awake and drop his pencil on the ground, scaring himself enough that he would jump in his seat, before promptly falling back asleep.

Jericho had moved to sit next to Sarah. Both were writing their essays, though Abby doubted that Jericho’s essay contained anything of quality or taste. Next to Abby, May zoomed through sheets of paper, as if she had a very good idea of who she was. Abby was pretty sure that she saw the line “_I am a horse girl_” at least once or twice.

Finally, Abby looked back at Lack Toes, who was focused on his own essay. She then tried her best to ignore Mickey, who was smiling that soulless smile at her from the seat behind Lack Toes. She felt shivers travel down her spine. How exactly did Mickey know exactly when she was going to look up? More importantly, how could his eyes, his two dark orbs, be so lifeless and unsettling?

Thoroughly creeped out, Abby decided to direct her attention back to her own paper and began to write.

_I am Abby Price. I am a student at Cade Valley High. I am definitely not a Russian spy._

_I didn’t do anything wrong. The Beatles are the best thing to happen to mankind ever. Those freshmen deserved to be beat up. Because of this, you may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us-_

No. That wasn’t right. Abby didn’t want to invite Principal Foreman-Grill to join them. Also, she was pretty sure that she wasn’t allowed to plagiarize. She scratched those lines out and began again.

_I am Abby Price. I am a student at Cade Valley High. I am a proud American. _

_I am the eggman. We are the eggmen. I am the wal-_

“Where did you say you got those airpods!?” Sarah exclaimed from the other side of the room. Everyone’s heads snapped up in her direction.

“I said, the fucking lost and found,” Jericho bragged smugly. He held his airpods in his hand like he was Loki holding the tesseract, except it was really small and there were two of them but airpod shaped. Abby wondered how it was possible for someone to act so much like Mr. Darcy and Langham combined, provided both were on ten cans of Monster.

Sarah frowned. “Why would you get it from the lost and found if you could just buy some?”

“Because it’s fucking free? Why the fuck would I spend my fucking money if I didn’t fucking have to?”

Abby rolled her eyes. Was it really necessary to swear so much in one sentence? She could feel her patience waning already.

“Oh,” Sarah considered, tilting to the side, causing her Tiffany and co. earrings to shake as she spoke. “I guess so. But now that I think about it, I did lose a pair of airpods just last month. Do you think the ones you found could be mine?”

“I don’t fucking know. But these fuckers are mine now!”

“Don’t worry, you can have them. I got a new pair. Gold plated, with Swarovski crystals.”

“Do you have to be so fucking rich all the fucking time?”

Sarah blinked, taken aback. Abby’s patience was on its last thread. Who gave Jericho the right to be mean to Sarah, who had always been nice to him?

“Oh whatever. Just ignore what I fucking said.” Jericho scooted his seat a little further away from Sarah and turned back to his paper, as if he really expected Sarah to ignore what he had said.

“For gosh sake, watch your language!” Abby exclaimed like Iron Man in the opening scene Avengers: Age of Ultron. “And don’t be so mean to Sarah! Why is your mind so opaque? Try thinking more, if just for your own sake!”

Jericho looked at her with a conceited smile on his face. “I don’t have to watch my fucking language if I don’t want to, Abby. Besides, who said I was being fucking mean to Sarah? I’m not mean to her. Right, Sarah?”

Sarah smiled awkwardly. “Really he’s not. It’s just friendly banter.”

“That doesn’t mean that he’s allowed to be so obnoxiously arrogant all the time!” May said from Abby’s side. “How can you brag about stealing something?”

“I didn’t fucking steal it okay? It’s the lost and found. Sarah lost it. I found it. There-fucking-fore, the fucking airpods are mine.”

Langham cleared his throat and slammed his hand on the table. He then got out of his seat and yeeted his leg onto the table itself, though it took two tries before his foot was comfortably planted over his papers.

“This might be the first time I’ve ever agreed with you, because anything in the lost and found is indeed free real estate,” Langham paused dramatically, “on the other hand, I still hate you and your haughty, egotistic, big-headed self. Every time you walk into the room and brag about your grades, I can feel my brain cells escaping through the orifices of my face. Every time I see you, I realize that nothing is Gucci anymore, and nothing ever will be. Just because you think you’re so great, doesn’t mean that you are great! You’re just a flop of a person and that’s the tea!”

“I don’t think that’s very fair to Jericho,” Sarah frowned, “all he did was swear a little. What does this have to do with his grades or his attitude?”

May rolled her eyes so hard that Abby thought they would recede into her skull. “Of course, _you_ would defend him.”

Sarah huffed and crossed her arms like a rich girl in a YA movie. “Of course, _you_ would be the one supporting those who blame someone for something they haven’t done. Jericho didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Nah, he’s always bragging and making people feel depresso.” Langham was now standing on the table. A smart move, taking the higher ground. Abby would know.

“He’s just a fool,” Abby agreed, “and nobody seems to like him. He never even listens to anyone but himself.”

“Forget that,” May growled, glaring at Sarah, who glared back. It was like they were trying to shoot lasers out of their eyes to disintegrate each other, except they weren’t the Care Bear in Imagine Dragons’ “Radioactive”, so it didn’t really work.

“Jericho might be a jerk, but at least he’s not a backstabber. Like some people I know,” May said.

“Oh, now _I’m_ the backstabber? You’re the traitor! All of this was your fault in the first place!”

“How dare you blame all of this on me!? How dare you?” May stood up icily and marched towards Sarah, who sat up straighter in her seat.

“I could say the same about you.”

The two were now face to face. Abby could see May’s fist shaking. She was pretty sure May was three seconds away from ripping Sarah’s Prada jacket off her torso and shoving it down her throat.

Jericho stood up and tried to wedge himself between the two.

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s not get fucking angry today.” Jericho placed a hand on May’s shoulder, “Stop blaming Sarah for some shit she didn’t fucking do!”

Langham pounced down from the table like a lion. Or a particularly aggressive cat. “Hey! Don’t you get involved. Or else we’ll actually have to throw hands!”

Abby started to panic. If a fight broke out, everyone would get in trouble. Not to mention, she wasn’t quite sure whether to support May and Langham or Sarah and Jericho, nor did she know how to stop the inevitable physical altercation. Abby wasn’t even sure what they were arguing about.

“Life is short!” Abby said desperately, “there’s no time for fussing and fighting!”

Everyone promptly ignored her.

Frantically, she looked around the room for help. Lack Toes, Zacarias, and even Shota were watching the drama attentively, eyes bouncing back and forth from the four parties like the ping-pong match organized by Mao and Nixon back in the 1970’s.

Then she noticed Mickey, who was recording everything with his phone.

He smiled at her. “I have two.”

“Oh,” said Abby, like the Beatles did in lines 3 and 4 of the seventh stanza in “Fixing a Hole”.

At that moment, the sound of angry footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Ah fuck!” Jericho exclaimed. At the same time, everyone else had supersped back to their seats and were pretending to write their essays, leaving only Jericho standing in the middle of the room. Mickey’s second phone had seemingly disappeared into the void.

The door burst open. Standing in the doorway was none other than Principal Chad Foreman-grill, fuming.

“Jericho Hu!” Principal Foreman-grill took a shaky breath, trying to keep himself from giving himself an anger-induced stroke. “What were the rules I stated earlier today?”

“Uh. Fuck. No talking? Don’t leave your seats?”

Principal Foreman-grill’s forehead vein pulsed and his eyebrows twitched like very hungry caterpillars. “So you did hear what I said. And yet, here you are, out of your seat, talking! Swearing! Being disrespectful to your elders! I already had to deal with your pa-“

Foreman-grill cut himself off with a heavy sigh.

“Eight more detentions, Mr. Hu.”

Mickey gasped dramatically.

“Excuse me?” Jericho exclaimed. “I have the SAT to study for! And college apps to write! You can’t just do that.”

“Keep talking and I’ll add another one,” Principal Foreman-grill threatened. He then looked around the room with disgust.

“Mr. Beyersdorf! Detention next Saturday as well.”

“Why?” Said Langham, “why? Why? Why?”

“Your hair is too loud.”

Sarah raised her hand.

“Yes?”

“Sir, I don’t think that’s fair. Jericho only broke three rules. Is it really fair to give him eight more detentions?”

“Ms. Yan, if you want to keep defending the behavior of these delinquents, I can give you another detention too.”

Sarah retracted her hand as quickly as she’d raised it up. “Sir, please don’t give me another detention. I can buy you whatever you want. I’ll even pay for the repairs on your car that Jericho scratched up with a pocketknife last week.”

“That was you!?” Principal Foreman-grill’s face contorted into a ball of “I should’ve retired twelve years ago” wrath. He rummaged through his pockets and took an aspirin. Then he sat down and took deep breaths for a minute.

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked over the classroom. “Another detention for you, Ms. Yan. And you, Mr. Hu, detention for the rest of the year!”

The Principal pointed at Jericho threateningly. “I’ll have a talk with your parents about this very soon, young man. I might even call the police!”

He then stormed out of the room.

Just as Abby was about to breathe out in relief, the Principal stormed back into the room.

“The rest of you! If you break any rules, I’ll give all of you detentions for life as well!”

Principal Foreman-grill stormed out again.

Abby let out a relieved breath. Jericho and Sarah sunk down into their original seats, both looking crestfallen. Langham seemed to have moved on pretty quickly but didn’t go back to passing papers back and forth with Zacarias. The room suddenly seemed to be chock full of awkward silence, relieved only by the sound of Shota’s head slamming onto the table every time he drifted asleep and woke up because of the pain.

Next to her, May looked upset as well, likely still hung up about her argument with Sarah. Abby wondered what had happened that caused the two to be so antagonistic toward each other. Both girls were generally amiable people, and Abby wasn’t sure whether she could imagine either of them betraying the other.

Abby sighed. Just yesterday, all her troubles had seemed so far away. But now, it looked like she had new problems, and that they were here to stay (at least until 4:00 pm).

On the table, her paper laid mostly untouched. The prompt echoed over and over in Abby’s head like a broken record. _Write an essay about who you are, what you did wrong, and what you will do in the future to change that_. Her problem was that she didn’t know the answer to any of those questions. Was she really Abby Price, high school senior at Cade Valley high, resident Beatles fanatic, and the most likely of her year to be a dictator in the future?

Or was she someone else? Someone distant and different from the Abby she knew now?

A sense of nostalgia filled Abby’s chest, and her eyes swelled with tears. It was a wonderful terrible wave of longing and pain, a long-lost memory tugging on the edge of her conscience. Abby tried desperately to remember why she was feeling this way, but no matter what she did, it seemed like the memory raft would just drift a little farther away.

Just what was this memory? And just who _was_ Abby Price? What lost yesterday was she remembering?

Abby’s head began to hurt from thinking so deeply. It was like she was trying to dig up gold from a mine in her mind that didn’t exist. Instead, there was just a void of nothing after nothing after nothing, all of which came tumbling out into the forefront of her mind.

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that the pain would ease if she could just rest. Soon, an uneasy sleep took her, and her mind wandered away to a life long forgotten.

* * *

_April 11th, 1912. The Atlantic Ocean, along the Irish Coast. The RMS Titanic. 8:40 pm._

Anna Pond sat broodingly in her quarters.

On the table, her tea sat untouched. Just earlier, she had gotten into an argument with her mother over tea and biscuits, deeply irritated and distressed. Her mother had emphasized over and over that their family’s financial position would be solidified through her soon-to-be engagement. But no matter how Anna thought about it, she could not stand the idea of marrying Marius.

It just wasn’t fair. Here she was on the world’s most luxurious, most beautiful, and unsinkable ship. Yet, she couldn’t even enjoy it. Anna rather disliked the idea of getting married. Even more than she disliked the idea of getting married, she disliked, or rather, distrusted Marius.

Marius was a tall and dubious man. He always smiled at her like he had some ulterior motive than whatever was coming out of his mouth. Anna would trust anyone more than she trusted him. But it didn’t matter. Marius’ family had money, and his permanent smile had won Anna’s mother over in the first month. It was like she was Jane and her mother was Mrs. Bennet, except Jane was boring and Anna was not a boring person.

This was it, Anna thought. There was no other road for her to choose. She was doomed to be trapped in a terrible marriage out of obligation rather than love. There was nothing left for her to look forward to.

In a spur of the moment decision, Anna rushed out of her room and onto the deck. A few workers attempted to stop her, but she broke through their confusion. There on the deck, the moonlight embraced her, and the ocean spray beckoned her to the waves.

Standing at the stern, Anna looked into the waves and saw another option. Another road. She could go to where she belonged. She could run back home.

She couldn’t quite tell whether her face was wet with tears or with sea water. Her eyes stung as she clambered onto the railing.

Below her, the waves zipped by, black like the pits of her heart.

Then, a voice.

“Don’t do it.”

Anna turned around. “Do what?”

The person who had spoken tossed their cigarette out of their mouth. A worn jacket draped over slumped shoulders. The hand without a cigarette clutched a sketchbook.

“Don’t jump.”

Anna recoiled in confusion. “Huh? Jump? What do you mean?”

The person gestured at Anna’s position on the railing.

“Oh,” said Anna, like the Beatles would 56 years later in the second last stanza of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”. “I’m not trying to jump. I’m just taking a better look at the waves. They remind me of the place where I was raised as a child, in Vladivostok, Russia.

“Oh,” the person echoed. Then, they held out their hand. “I’m Zain. Zain Collins. A struggling, penniless artist.”

Anna climbed back over the railing to shake hands with Zain. “I’m Anna Pond, a rich upper-class girl who has a fiancé. Nice to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	3. Written and Directed by Shota Hamada

“Ever been to West Virginia?” asked Zain, leaning against the now person-less railing.

Anna blinked, perplexed. “No. Why?”

“Well, they have one of the coolest winters around, and I grew up there, near the Shenandoah River.” Zain threw an arm over Anna’s shoulders and gestured in the air in front of them, as if Anna knew what Shenandoah River looked like. “I’m sure it’s a lot like Russia there. One time when I was a kid me and my father were ice fishing, and my dad got frostbite and they had to remove his arm—"

“He had to what?”

“Get his arm removed! Aren’t you listening?”

Anna frowned and pushed them away. Zain, seemingly unfazed, continued to talk.

“So then after that he had phantom pains. And he kept blaming it on me, especially when my Mom started getting mad at him for not helping out around the house. Then they both started taking their anger out on me, so I got mad at them, and now they just pretend I don’t exist. I’m going back to visit them, and I thought—”

“Sorry, um, Zain.” Anna pushed away from the railing and started making a beeline toward the entrance below deck. “I’m not really sure you should be telling your life story to a person you barely know.”

“No wait!” Zain grabbed her arm. “I need your help. Just two things. And then I’ll help you do anything you ask. Please.”

Anna paused. She did really need help. She needed help getting rid of her fiancé. Preferably without trouble, though if it came to it, she wasn’t below murder.

“What do you need help with?”

Zain raised a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone else. I need to hide something. Something very, very, important. And I need a model for my drawing because otherwise my tutor will kill me.”

* * *

_August 24th, 2019. Cade Valley High, Room 319. 9:30 am_.

“Just spit it out, Lack Toes!”

Abby woke with a start. She blinked blearily at the ruckus taking place a few tables away. Lack Toes was in his seat, Shota next to him. Jericho sat on the desk in front of him, looming over Lack Toes threateningly. One seat away, Mickey smiled at the scene like he was watching a modern production of _Hamlet_.

“Alright, alright!” Lack Toes whisper-shouted. “I’ll tell you.”

Jericho smiled smugly, sliding smoothly off the table before selecting a seat and swiveling it so he could sit facing Lack Toes.

“Listen,” said Lack Toes solemnly, taking a shaky breath. “It has to do with my feet.”

“Ooh kinky,” said Jericho.

Lack Toes shot him a glare. “No, not kinky. Like I was saying, it has to do with my feet because I was in Mr. Trackenfeld’s PE class. We had this activity where we were supposed to run around the field and time ourselves. He kept on saying that I wasn’t doing my best and shouting at me to push myself more, but I really was trying my best. And then he gave me detention for not trying hard enough.”

“That’s it? Why didn’t you just fucking run faster?” Jericho asked. “It’s not like you’re _actually_ missing any toes.”

Shota coughed a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Lack Toes rolled his eyes so hard that Abby thought they would disappear into his skull the way Calvino did whenever they had online Literature class with Waybis.

“Why do you think his name is Lack Toes, Jerry?” Langham deadpanned.

A moment of silence.

“Ohhhhh!” Jericho exclaimed. “I thought you were just lactose intolerant!”

“No, that’s Langham. I’m good with dairy. Just missing three toes on each foot.”

“I’m not lactose intolerant!”

“Whatever, Langham. Lack Toes! How did you lose the toes?”

“It was an accident, earlier this year,” Lack Toes stated, his face heavy as if entering backstory mode. “Sadness and Sorrow” from the _Naruto_ _Original Soundtrack_ began playing in the background.

Abby shuffled in her chair into a more comfortable position, ready to hear Lack Toes’ story.

“Wait, if you lost your toes earlier this year, why were you called Lack Toes before that?” Jericho suddenly piped up.

Lack Toes’ back stiffened, as if Jericho was touching upon a subject touchier than his lost toes. Abby leaned forward in curiosity at the same time. She didn’t know Lack Toes’ real name—he’d simply been referred to as Lack Toes for as long as she could remember knowing him. But why, if he hadn’t lost his toes before? A memory surfaced from the back of her mind, some time in first grade when she’d first seen Lack Toes; but he wasn’t introduced to her as “Lack Toes”. He had a name back then. When did it disappear? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but would a toe by any other name be as toe?

“It’s a long story.”

“We have time.”

“No, we don’t. Have you even finished your essay?”

“Nah. Who cares about that stupid fucking essay anyways?” Jericho flipped off the security camera in the corner of the room that was probably not on and even if it was, would never be watched.

“Well, I’m going to work on my essay,” said Lack Toes. He prodded the half-asleep Shota next to him and settled next to him and Langham to work on his essay.

The music suddenly stopped. Behind her, Mickey was holding his phone screen up, his music app paused on the _Naruto OST_. Abby felt shivers go down her spine.

Whatever, Abby thought. She needed to finish her essay no matter what. She bent down over her sheet of paper and felt her brain melting through her skull.

Why did Principal Foreman-grill have to assign this accursed assignment? What did he even have against them? All she did was fight a few middle schoolers. It was almost as if… he had some kind of bias against them or was seeking to exact some kind of vengeance.

“Hey, Abby,” whispered Shota, who had suddenly sidled up to her side. “Can you look over my essay?”

Abby flinched away with surprise. When had he teleported to her table? And more importantly, how did he write his paper while asleep?

“Yeah, sure. Anything to procrastinate.”

“Cool thanks.” Shota slid her the paper over the table.

* * *

Who I Am: Or, How Lack Toes Lost His Toes

a screenplay (essay) by Shota Hamada

Cast:

ABBY PRICE… Anna Pond

ZACARIAS CHEN… Zain Collins

MAY ORANGECITY… Mary Pineapplevillage

SARAH YAN… Stella Yeske

MICKEY LO… Marius ?

SHOTA HAMADA… Shota Hamada

LANGHAM BEYERSDORF… Langham Beyersdorf

LACK TOES… Lack Toes

Written and Directed by:

SHOTA HAMADA (sorry James Cameron)

1 EXT. / INT. METH ONE / NORTH ATLANTIC DEEP / EARLIER THIS YEAR

PUSHING IN on a falling submersible, called METH ONE, right up to its circular viewport to see the occupants.

INSIDE, it is a cramped three-meter square, filled with equipment. LACK TOES, the submarine’s pilot, sits hunched over his controls… singing softly the ice cream truck song. He isn’t particularly short but sitting down he makes a fetus-like ball of a person. Focused on the controls he doesn’t seem to notice that his hair is sticking up in the back, nor does he notice the heavy box on the control panel teetering over the side.

Next to him on one side is LANGHAM BEYERSDORF. He’s in his late teens, ghastly pale, and likes to die his hair in bright colors that fade into shades of grey-brown. His eyebags are particularly pronounced, and his eyes are laced with red as if he were high. He is a memey, fast-talking treasure hunter, a salvage superstar who is part student, part thief of large corporate stores, and part baker. Right now, he is zoning out against the CO2 scrubber.

One the other side, slotted into the corner is a non-bearded non-wide-bodied person named SHOTA HAMADA, who is asleep. Shota is a ship pilot and is the resident Titanic expert.

Lack Toes glances at the left sonar and makes a beef adjustment.

CUT TO:

2 EXT. THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA

A pale, flat lunar landscape. A spot of light on it grows wider and brighter as the METH ONE enters FRAME and drops to the seafloor with a blast from its thrusters. It hits bottom after its 4.2-hour free-fall with a loud OOF.

CUT TO:

3 INT. METH ONE

Beyersdorf and Hamada jerk awake at the landing.

LACK TOES

(heavy elvish accent)

We are here.

SHOTA

Come left a little. She’s right in front of us, eighteen meters. Fifteen. Thirteen… you should see it.

LANGHAM

Do you see it? I don’t see it… there!

Out of the darkness, like a patronus, the bow of the ship appears. Its knife-edge prow is coming straight at us, seeming to plow the bottom sediment like ocean waves. It towers above the seafloor, standing just as it landed 107 years ago.

THE TITANIC. Or what is left of her, the shell of her former self. Meth One goes up and over the bow railing, intact except for an overgrowth of “rusticles” draping it like mutated curtains.

TICHT ON THE EYEPIECE MONITOR of a video camcorder. Langham Beyersdorf’s face fills the FRAME.

LANGHAM

It still gets me every time. Though this is the first time I’ve been here. But I’ve dreamt it. After so long we’re finally here.

The image pans to the front viewport, looking over Lack Toes’ shoulder, to the bow railing visible in the lights beyond. Lack Toes bends over and looks at Langham from between his legs.

LACK TOES

It’s just your guilt because of stealing from the dead.

LANGHAM

(ignoring Lack Toes)

It still gets me every time… to see the miserable ruin of the majestic ship flopping here, where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15, 1912, after her long fall from the world above.

Lack Toes rolls his eyes in Tagalog. Shota chuckles and checks the sonar, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

SHOTA

You are so high, boss.

LANGHAM

Thank you.

4 Meth One passes over the seemingly endless forecastle deck, with its massive anchor chains still laid out in two neat rows, its bronze windlass caps gleaming like Mr. B. Ott’s bald head. The 7-meter-long subs are like white bugs or meth crystals next to the enormous wreck.

5 Meth One lands on the roof of the deck house. OUTSIDE THE SUB, a small rainbow and mud-colored robot called NICKI MINAJ lifts from its cradle and flies forward.

SHOTA

Right. let’s get to work.

NICKI MINAJ drives itself away from the sub, paying out its umbilical behind it like a robot yo-yo, but specifically the yo-yo that Ness uses in Super Smash Bros. It’s twin stereo-video cameras swivel like Wall-E. NICKI MINAJ descends through an open shaft that once was the beautiful First Class Grand Staircase.

MONTAGE STYLE, as Nicki passes the phantom-like images of the Titanic’s opulence:

6 A grand piano in amazingly good shape, on its side against a wall. Beethoven would’ve been jealous. You can almost hear a gentile-class woman playing it to show off, her name perhaps Mary Bennet, bearing no relation to the Mary mentioned in the CAST LIST.

7 A chandelier, still swinging from the ceiling like a chandelier! A chandelie-er!

8 Nicki’s lights dance across the floor, revealing a champagne bottle with a nametag belonging to the Kettle family.

Nicki enters a corridor which is much better preserved. Here and there a door still hangs on its rusted hinges.

9 NICKI MINAJ turns and goes through a black doorway, entering room B-69, the sitting room of a “promenade suite”, one of the most luxurious staterooms on Titanic. It is the room that Anna Pond stayed in 107 years ago.

LANGHAM

Okay, I want to see what’s under that wardrobe door.

NICKI MINAJ deploys its MANIPULATOR ARMS and starts moving debris aside. Shota grips the wardrobe door with Nicki’s gripper. It moves in a cloud of silt. Under it is a dark object. The silt clears and Nicki’s cameras show them what was under the door…

LANGHAM

(suddenly with a Midwestern accent)

Ooohh daddy-oh, are you seein’ what I’m seein’?

SHOTA

Oh boy. We did it.

ON THE CAMERA SCREEN, in the glare of the lights, is the object of their quest: a small STEEL COMBINATION SAFE. It is labelled with the words: THE MITOCHONDRIA OF THE OCEAN. Below, in small font: THE KING OF ALL DRUGS.

10 EXT. STERN OF DECK OF HEIST SHIP – DAY

THE SAFE, dripping wet is being lowered onto the deck by a winch cable. Lack Toes, Shota, and Langham stand around on the deck, waiting for the safe to be lowered, eyeing it like a pack of starved wolves.

The ship lurches and the cable snaps with a crack. The safe falls onto Lack Toes’ feet. Pained screams from Lack Toes and Langham, who tripped over while the ship swayed.

11 INT. HOSPITAL ROOM IN WEST VIRGINIA – DAY

Blinds open, West Virginian sunlight spilling into the room. The Shenandoah Mountains visible in the distance beyond the hospital parking lot.

LACK TOES, lying in bed, feet propped up. He has lost three toes on each foot. Shota and Langham sit at his bedside. THE SAFE in Langham’s lap. He is petting it like it is a cat.

SHOTA

We finally did it. Who’s the best? Say it.

LANGHAM

You are, Shota.

LACK TOES

I lost toes for this. This better be worth it.

SHOTA  
  


At least you match your name now.

Langham tries the lock. It opens with a click. Inside, where the MITOCHONDRIA OF THE OCEAN: THE KING OF ALL DRUGS should’ve been, is instead a PAPER DRAWING. Langham removes the paper drawing and stares at it, lost, desolate.

SHOTA

Shit.

LANGHAM

Our drugs! Our aged drugs! The forbidden meth of the ocean! Gone! Where did it go? Who took it?

LACK TOES

You know, I lost my toes for this. You two better figure out where it went.

SHOTA

I knew this wasn’t going to work.

LANGHAM

How else were we supposed to deal with Mickey? Where else would we get the money from outside of getting this and selling it?

BLACKOUT, as the camera zooms into the blackness of the now empty safe. As empty as Shota’s pandora-box heart, which, unlike the box, lacked even hope.

* * *

Abby looked up from the paper. Her head hurt.

“Shota, what is this?” She asked. Abby’s head kept pounding. What did the essay mean? Had they really gone to the Titanic? Who was Anna Pond? What about Mickey did they need to deal with?

Shota pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s the true story of how Lack Toes lost his toes.”

Abby pressed her face into her hands, though it didn’t really work because her glasses were still on. Her headache seemed to intensify the more she tried to think about the story.

“Shota, can you explain? I need to know what’s going on! Why were you looking for the—what was it? Mitochondria of the ocean? Who is Anna Pond? Why the Titanic?”

“Because it’s the legendary drug. The king of all drugs. The powerhouse of drug dealing.” Shota’s voice lowered to a whisper-whisper, the king all whispers. “I can’t tell you anything else though. Not with him here.” He glanced at Mickey, who raised an eyebrow back at him.

Abby swiveled around to look at Mickey. He was playing music again, this time some weeb music that she couldn’t recognize. “でもそんなんじゃ だめ もうそんなんじゃ ほら~” his phone sang.

The high-pitched voice and circulating melody suffocated the room. Abby felt her headache growing more and more intense. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to make the pressure go away.

One beat.

Two.

Finally, silence.

Blackness, a gentle lull of movement. The sound of the ocean in the back.

She opened her eyes to:

* * *

_April 12th, 1912. The Atlantic Ocean, some distance away from the Irish Coast. The RMS Titanic. 11:00 am._

“Draw me like one of your e-girls,” Anna said, T-posing.

Zain gave her a thumbs up.

This wasn’t too bad, Anna thought. Zain had agreed to help her get rid of Marius—sadly, not via murder—so she no longer had to worry about getting married. Moreover, she’d never established so much dominance before, as her mother would always prevent her from T-posing because that wasn’t what a good young lady was supposed to do.

Earlier, she had spent some time with her two best friends, Mary and Stella. More accurately, they were both her best friends, but Mary’s best friend was Stella and Stella’s best friend was Mary. It was a bit like third wheeling, but for best friends. They’d been arguing about some arbitrary issue about horses and etiquette that Anna hadn’t paid attention to. Marius had shown up and said that he would deal with it, so Anna had left to avoid him.

Anna turned her attention to Zain, whose tongue was sticking out from the corner of their mouth in concentration.

“What do you plan on doing with the drawing?”

Zain looked up from his sketchbook. “I need it to hide something very important.”

“Will you tell me what it is?”

“Later. You’ll see, in a century or so. Maybe a little longer.”

“What do you mean?”

* * *

_August 24th, 2019. Cade Valley High, Room 319. 10:30 am_.

“Abby? Abby! Nod your head yes when you wanna say no if you can hear me!”

Abby opened her eyes to say May staring at her in front of her face.

“Oh, you’re finally awake! I thought you were going to sleep for the rest of the day,” May exclaimed.

Abby rubbed her eyes and took in the scene before her eyes.

“May, is it normal to have visions in your dreams?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Oh, alright.” May continued to talk about something that Abby couldn’t pay attention to. She needed to figure out what was going on.

From the other side of the room, Sarah glared at the back of May’s head as if May had banned her from buying expensive clothing.

The room had settled into relative silence, with the only sounds being May’s talking and Mickey’s phone, which had changed to playing elevator music.

Something was up, Abby decided. Something very fishy. And it had to do with Mickey, Anna Pond, and of course, Shota, Lack Toes, and Langham.

“Trust no one,” she said seriously, cutting May off mid-sentence, staring into her eyes for just a moment, before shifting her gaze to May’s horse-patterned blouse.

The horses seemed to be losing their shit. Abby could relate. She’d read Sylvia Plath’s “Ariel” before—a poem describing the process of losing control, on a horse.

If only she was a horse, Abby thought. Then she could be free of whatever scheme that the world was dragging her into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) here goes

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to detention, friends :)


End file.
